


An Alternative Curse

by failsafe



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Alternate Origin Story, Alternate Universe - Past Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Character Turned Into Vampire, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 09:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12166050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/failsafe/pseuds/failsafe
Summary: Akemi Homura was born with a weak heart. She traded one kind of weak heart for another, in the end.





	An Alternative Curse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tentaclekitten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tentaclekitten/gifts).



> In your optional details, you mentioned a vampire AU. This was how I imagined that might happen. When I first watched PMMM, I kind of thought that perhaps Homura was actually ageless or older than all of them in a different way, when I began to realize what was happening but not the full picture. Therefore, I was sort of thinking this might be in the Meiji Era? However, it's super vague and sort of dark fairytale-like and makes no real claims to anything but a mild attempt at historical-cultural accuracy. Basically, this was because in my research about it, there are no vampire myths native to Japan. I hope you enjoy it!

Like many things, the corruption of blood that afflicted Akemi Homura had come to this land from far away. At least, her present ailment had. She had traded one curse for another, one shortened life and hastened death for another.

The child Akemi Homura had been born without enough blood flowing through her veins. She had been pale, even as she cried and had shown signs of life. She had been lukewarm where most infants were vital, warm against their mothers' breasts. Nevertheless, the little girl had survived. Mother held her close and fed her as richly and as often as she could, from suckling to her first bites of solid food. The little girl-child had an equally little appetite, though. Father traveled from place to place for his family's survival, first one kind and then another. Wherever he went, he sought out those who knew cures for diseases of the body and diseases of the spirit.

None of them were able to give him adequate advice to heal her.

This went on for many years. The little girl grew, her body insisting on being adequately vital and alive but little more. Her breath drew shorter than her frame, her brow was often dampened with sweat, and she could not keep up with the other children at play. Her serious, nervous disposition seemed to follow her body's lead, and when the little girl had nearly grown into a young woman, her parents were as lost as ever. It seemed that their daughter would live, but she would live under this curse forever.

At least, she would live under it as long as she lived.

The most reliable physician Akemi Homura's father found told her parents that the beating of her heart was to blame for all that was different about her. The steady, strong rhythm that resounded in the chests of all those who surrounded her was different in hers. It was sometimes too slow, sometimes too fast, but even so, it never gave up. At least, not yet.

Not yet.

Akemi Homura's parents lived with this news as well as they could. Their daughter showed little interest in the things that ought to have come next for a young woman, and silently, her mother could not blame her. She combed her daughter's hair and washed her daughter's feet, never once mentioning the idea of finding a husband. That life would not be for her daughter. While she was beautiful, demure, and very capable in conversation, her body would never hold up to the rigors of motherhood. This, if nothing else, made her mother keep her safe at home.

Like gunpowder stored in cool, dry barrels in the dry, dark hull of a ship, Homura's heart kept beating, gnetly rocking in its vital rhythm, but with the wrong spark, the wrong splash, it might explode or it might snuff itself out in silence. The knowledge of her own hovering specter of death came to Akemi Homura slowly, but by the time she traded one death for another, she was well-aware of how close she always was to that fragile, silken veil between life and death.

\- - -

The stranger came from far away. He was pale, and everywhere he went he brought with him the scent of something sharp, like the wind after the clearing of a thunderstorm. He was pleasant and soft-spoken, and his fingernails were a little long but smoothly rounded, not dangerous except for their unusual sheen. His teeth were not so blunt, but they had the same shine, the same pleasant cleanliness that made one think of the quick advance of modern medicine that rushed in at every shore, on every ship and boat, it seemed.

Akemi Homura's father met the stranger at the port one day. The stranger offered him the nearly unlimited capacity to heal any ailment that concerned him. This offer had seemed to good to be true, but when Homura's father asked, the stranger simply said:

“I could see it in your eyes. Something afflicts you down to your very soul!”

A dying daughter – a daughter whom he would likely outlive – certainly seemed to be such a thing.

Homura's father brought the stranger to see her. That was when things began to change.

“Hello Homura,” the stranger said, smiling a bright smile that showed his teeth, beneath the shade of a tree in the garden.

“Hello,” Homura replied tightly in polite response to the sudden familiarity. She smiled, too, but her smile never showed her teeth.

“How are you feeling today?”

“Very well, thank you.”

“Is that true?”

“Well, I'm a little tired. It's fine, though,” Homura promised, insistently. It was rare that anyone but her parents noticed. Or, maybe, it was rare that anyone but her parents dared speak of it.

“Don't you ever get tired of being tired?” the stranger asked.

It had stricken Homura as quite rude. What could he know of it? Why did it matter to him?

“No,” she lied, in quiet defiance.

“Oh. I see,” he said. He lapsed into a silence that made Homura feel as if she must do something ot breach it. “Your father seemed to think I might be able to help you, but I suppose not.” He stranger stood in the garden and looked left and right. Wind blew and the sharp smell returned to the air as it seemed intent on blanketing him, wiping any sweat that might have ever formed on his brow at all. The stranger seemed perfectly – _strangely_ – clean. 

\- - - 

Homura had been seen by doctors before. She had been seen by priests before. Neither had been able to help her. This stranger was different, though. This stranger was different because he didn't seem to try. Anything that she had been accustomed to with the others – drinking new, bitter teas, surrendering to being listened to, thumped, pressed, and poked with her mother's fierce attendance – never happened with this stranger.

Even so, he stayed.

“Father,” she asked, one day, “why does he remain here?”

“Homura,” her father tutted softly, “he is our guest. He might be able to help you feel better. He helped me from the first time I met him, and I have no reason to doubt him.”

Homura did not know if this was true, but she doubted that her father believed it to be. Instead, she thought her father wished it to be and mistook it for belief.

\- - -

The rustling sound, followed by soft murmurs, in the storage shed behind Homura's house took her by surprise one day. She heard a melodic, polite voice, followed by an airier, soft voice that she recognized. Who was the strange doctor speaking with in the little shed? Deciding she needed to know, Homura felt a small burst of energy rush through her as it sometimes did. Her heart beat fast, fast, fast, fast.

“I really am sorry, sir,” the girl's voice insisted. It was strained – sweet in a way that seemed to only wish to wear happiness but weighed down with grief. “I followed it here because it was hurt. If there's _anything_ you can do – please.” 

“Well,” the man said. He was thinking it over, as if this shed, as if anything here, belonged to him. “... Well,” he repeated, and through the crack where Homura spied, she saw him reach him to touch his chin thoughtfully before dropping his hand away, “I cannot do anything for it, but _you_ might be able to.” 

“H-How?” the girl asked. Seeing her, Homura saw why her voice sounded as it did. It matched her presence entirely in its tone and quality. She was dressed in pure, clean white, but there was a small smattering of fresh blood stains across it. She had hair the color of the edges of peaceful sunset or dawn, but it was tangled and blocked to one side by a curled, injured ball of black fur. 

“Blood takes blood to heal,” the stranger said. 

The girl's eyes widened, fascinated. Then, she stepped back, wary. Her back touched the wall of the storage shed. She cradled the hurt cat closer. 

“What kind of blood?” she asked. 

“Your blood, of course,” the stranger said pleasantly. 

“My blood?” the girl asked, eager to learn through her fear. 

“If you had blood as I do, you could live forever!” the man replied. He nodded toward the black cat which cried a soft mew that sounded like pain. “And it could be your pet,” he added, enthusiastically, as if he didn't see her fear, didn't see the blood, and cared only for himself.

Homura revealed herself, angry and afraid. Her hands were a little shaky, but she kept them at her sides. She looked to meet the girl's eyes, past the stranger. He was still a stranger to her, and as his eyes caught her back, she realized he always would be. 

“What's wrong with it?” she asked, nodding at the cat. 

“It got attacked,” the girl replied, and just hearing her say anything at all to her changed things and strengthened her resolve. She seemed so kind, and she was one of the most beautiful things Homura had ever seen. “Can you help?” 

Could she help? Homura didn't know. She turned to the stranger and looked at him, her eyes narrowed. 

“I don't know. Can I?” she asked, brave through the deliberate, anxious clecnhing of her fists. 

“But of course! Blood brings life. It doesn't matter which blood, exactly,” the stranger replied happily. He smiled that same bright, clean, sharp smile. 

“... I'll do it then,” Homura said. 

“But—” The girl started to say. Homura turned to look at her, but when the girl kept just staring, she realized that this was a terrible idea. She realized that there was something wrong with this. She didn't know what it was or what would happen next. All she knew was that she had spared this girl from some fate which was likely inevitable for her anyway. 

“I'll do it,” she told the stranger, looking back up at him. She did her best not to be afraid. Her fingernails dug into her palms, making little moon shapes. 

“Your father will be pleased to the end of his days. Your mother, too,” the stranger said. 

\- - - 

That day, Homura's life changed. That day, Homura's life ended, but things went on anyway. 

The girl screamed when it happened. She tried to defend her, but Homura refused. Instead, the girl had stayed by her side as the cat bounded away, healthy already and perhaps the way it would remain. She stayed, pressing a cloth to the side of her neck where the little holes still seeped blood. The blood on Homura's mouth might have been her own, but she didn't think it was. She didn't tell the beautiful girl who was trying – and failing, sweetly failing – to save her that. 

“I'm sorry, I didn't know,” the girl pleaded with someone, with anything. 

For now, the stranger was gone. For now, Homura didn't care where. 

“It's alright,” she promised, shushing the girl even though she felt very, very weak. 

“It's not. I shouldn't have let you do that. It just happened so fast, and I've never seen anything like—”

Homura cleared her throat and the girl stopped. 

“What's your name?” she asked, when she was sure she wouldn't be interrupting anymore. 

“Kaname Madoka,” the girl replied. 

Homura took it in. She thought it over. She smiled, closing her eyes as if to go to sleep. When she awakened, her heart would beat more steadily. When she awakened, her heart would keep beating almost forever. 

“It's alright,” she promised. “I'd do it again in a heartbeat.” 

 


End file.
